Gundam X : Where The Eagle Has Dared To Land
by Joe Ultra
Summary: The SRA is losing the war. Seidel Rasso orders for the abduction of the UNE Council. Fifth Para, a crack team, under guidance of former Major Michel Kane, is tasked to do the job in order to get amnesty for their actions during the war.
1. Chapter 1

Gundam X : Where the eagle has dared to land

Once, there was a war…

One colony's movement for independence grew into a full-scale conflict between Earth and the colonies.

Eight months into a stalemate, the Space Revolutionary Army pressed for Earth's surrender by threatening to crash the colonies into Earth. Against this the United Nations of Earth Forces deployed its secret weapon, the Gundam-type mobile suit, to prepare for a final stand.

However, this resulted in the greatest tragedy in the history of mankind.

Driven to win, the Space Revolutionary Army proceeded with their operation but the United Nations of Earth Forces were able to withstand the initial onslaught. In the quagmire of this war, the cradle of mankind was nearly destroyed by the damage. Virtually all of Earth's ten billion inhabitants were lost.

There were no longer any instances of victory or defeat.

* * *

><p>June B.W. 0001, Seventh Space War<p>

Six weeks prior to the final operation

North American SRA-occupied Base

Golden plumes of sand and dust skimmed across the Nevada desert which reflected the peachcolored rays of the rising sun and painted outstrechted shadows over the landscape. Here, over the course of an hour, SRA forces attacked and captured a major UNE military railway station.

Just before dawn a diversionary attack by four Septem and one Jenice MS caught the enemy off guard on the west side of the base while five double-rotored transport helicopters advanced from the east two minutes later. Flying very close to the ground they were able to actually land on the little airport next to the station and use it as a staging point for the assault. By the time the sun had started to rise most of the fighting had died off as almost all UNE troops were either dead or captured. There are but a few signs of the battle, a demolished warehouse, a handful of impact craters and several small fires among the rubble. Of the base defences, such as a company of _Daughtress_ MS remained only nine piles of scrap and of the small infantry battalion remained a hundred and fifty-seven soldiers, most of which were wounded.

The capture of this railway station is key in disrupting most of the Nate supply lines in this region. What the UNE has lost is a great benefit to the Revolutionaries, easier transport over the long parts of no man's land and a forward position driven into the enemy line. Another step closer to Carson City Base, UNE's headquarters for the American West.

Prisoners are led to the open courtyard in front of the main office building or what's left of it anyway. Under the watchful eyes of SRA troops and four Septem MS, UNE soldiers surrender and throw their weapons unto a pile before the pedestal of an obliterated AA-gun. The sight of chaos, destruction, victory and defeat is nothing new to _Major __Michel __Kane_, commander of the SRA's Fifth Para.

Seated on the open hatch of his old Jenice MS like it was a porch, he looked around pleased about this new conquest in the name of the SRA. Kane himself was a man from the old guard and a born soldier. Enlisted as a youth during the Fifth Space War, he fought through the Sixth and into the Seventh. Nothing much changed about him over that long period except for his black hair that receded a bit and started to turn grey at the sides but he kept his sideburns, which were fashionable in his younger days. His gaze had become more stern which resulted in a wrinkled forehead and dozen of small scars littered his face. His mouth had hardened over time. All this gave him the appearance of being gritty, bold and brave. And it were not only his looks that commanded the respect from his men, he earned it many times before as his service record can attest.

Kane felt a sense of fulfillment when he took a drag of his cigarette for he knew he has done his soldier's duty and that is the greatest honor a man like him could receive. But that feeling soon disappeared when he saw some of his men busy putting seventeen bodybags in the back of a captured supply truck for retrieval back to Cloud Nine.

Far off in the distance south shadowy figures started to become visible. Through his binoculars Kane recognized the silhouettes of Octape-type MS among them, it could only be the oncoming SRA convoy to relieve them. He jumped up excited, ran his hand over his remaining hair and searched for a particular face among the people on the courtyard. His eye fell on a para that was busy setting up radio communications near the remains of _a __Daughtress __Tank_.

'Corporal Sims, get _Goose_ on the horn! Report that we have control over the _Nest_. All clear this side of the Grand Canyon.' Kane yelled, amused by the startled behaviour of his radio operator. After a few moments the soldier yelled back that the convoy's ETA would be thirty minutes.

As he was about to turn back to face the armored column he was halted by a sudden outburst of cheers coming from the other side of courtyard. Three of his men escorted a, by the looks of it, high ranking UNE officer who carried a fold-up flag under his right arm. The three and the captured officer halted near the left leg of Kane's MS.

Master Sergeant Flanagan, Kane's adjudant, reported 'Looks like we got ourselves a genuine United Nations Earth Colonel, Sir!'

Kane applauded the victory 'Tell me, Sergeant. Who is responsible for this man's capture?'

'Private Cillis, Sir!' declared Flanagan, hoarse from shouting orders during the assault.

Kane slid down with his retractable rope attached to the cockpit hatch and walked up to the prisoner and his young captor. He padded him on the shoulder and added his appreciation for the rookie by giving him a battlefield promotion to Private First Class. A smile reached ear to ear on the soldier's young and still unscarred face.

The Major then turned his attention to the UNE Colonel and the more pressing matter at hand; the formal surrender of the base to the official body he represents. He couldn't help but grin triumphant when he saluted the prisoner 'Major Michel Kane, Fifth Para in the Air Wing Special Forces of the Space Revolutionary Army. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?'

'I wish I could say the same…' the officer sighed meak 'Colonel Zayun, Nineteenth Support Battalion, North American Division. Serving in the United Nations Earth Terrestrial Army.' Zayun paused for a second when he looked up at the giant triangular SRA flag, planted in the centre of the courtyard by a Septem, and is reminded once again of the humiliation of defeat 'I hereby surrender the base and present you its flag.'

'Colonel, I'm obliged to ask if you understand that by doing so, your final order towards all soldiers under your command is to surrender at once?'

'Yes, Major. I fully comprehend the actions and results following the surrender of this flag. If you permit me to use the central intercom…' Zayun nodded his head in the direction of the main building, where the comm-room is located.

'Of course, Col. Zayun. Please, don't let me stop you' Michel responded and signaled his adjudant to come closer 'Sgt. Flanagan, take PFC Cillis and assist the Colonel with his task to the best of your abilities.'

Flanagan and Cillis saluted and motioned the Colonel to lead the way. But before Zayun marched off to the comm-room to announce the surrender he turned back to Kane 'One last request, Major. I trust that my men and myself will be treated as POW's.'

'I give you my word, Sir!' Kane replied and made a hasty gesture to follow the Sergeant and be done with these formalities.

Morning turned into day and the sky turned bright blue with only few clouds hanging over the horizon, the sun high up in the air. By the time the convoy reached the railway station, the voice of Colonel Zayun echoed all over the base and surrounding planes calling for an immediate cease-fire and surrender of all remaining UNE soldiers.

Unfortunately the relieving convoy is comprised of solely Newtype units. They are part of a seperate branch of the military and have in most cases superior authority, as they are seen as the Seidel Rasso's personal guard. When Rasso rose to power every soldier was given a choice; to pledge an oath to him personally and become a full-fledged Newtype or stay with the old soldier's oath and remain an Oldtype. Kane couldn't care less about the Oldtype and Newtype quarrel, it's just a means to an end; freedom and freedom alone. That's all he fought for during the last two Space Wars and that's all he fights for in this war. Freedom for him, for his brothers-in-arms and for the Clouds.

By the time the afternoon set in Fifth Para prepared to return to their homebase at Old Vegas. The five double-rotored transport helicopters and five MS-carrier choppers stood at the ready on the little airport, refueled, loaded up and ready to go. Finally after a most hectic day the hundred and fifteen paracommandos had a bit of time for themselves to relax. Some started a small fire to cook things found in the ruins of the mess hall, others made improvised beds to rest for a while and others searched around for things of interest. The rest of the men were caught up with a game of soccer after one of them found a ball among the rubble. It was a chaotic match of thirty-two persons running around with almost no visible difference in teams or logic but it gave them a just reason to blow off the excess steam of the day.

Finished with the red tape and debriefing with the leader of the relief force, a pesky NT-Captain by the name of Pike, Michel his two adjudants along with his hero of the day, Cillis made their way over the railyard as a shortcut to the helicopters. Open supply trucks filled with commandeered materials from the railyard made themselves ready to drive the long journey back to the Revolutionaries main base of operations at Old Vegas.

While the four walked over the tracks and between the trains they could observe how the POW's are treated by the superior 'Newtype' soldiers. Pushed into the wagons like cattle they await the unpleasant prospect of the horrid prison camps which are infamous on both sides. The four paras tried to ignore the situation as much as they could, there's nothing they could do. The first to object on the treatment is automatically accused with sedition or treason and can find himself sentenced to a penal battalion. And nobody wants a spot in those suicide units.

'Goddamn! Those Newtype fanatics make me wanna barf.' Sgt. Flanagan blurted out disgusted by the view which made his blonde bushy eyebrows stand crooked.

'Did you see their mobiles? Shouldn't special forces, like _us_, get the top of the line equipment?' Lt. Liana Haig, Kanes second adjudant and Executive Officer of the MS unit of Fifth, screamed out against her comrades.

Kane wanted to respond but Flanagan beat him to it 'The Major has, with his antique Jenice, defeated every Newtype that sparred against him. Ain't that right, Mitch? Remember that one _Bertigo_-pilot?' Flanagan laughed out loud 'Jevel? Or was it Naver? He got downed in April…'

'The one that was gonna participate in Operation Lilac? Yeah…' Kane stopped short to light a cigarette and took a puff 'Screamed like a child when he had to yield. That arrogant excuse for a Captain is just the same as that guy. All of them are overconfident in beamweapons, their Flash-system and all that techno mumbo-jumbo. And of course their Newtype delusions.' He took another drag to rest his tongue for a second before he continued 'Not a single one of them can understand one is born to be a pilot or a warrior and can't be remodeled into one with gadgets.'

'If this Pike here got the rank of Captain through those tests of the Newtype Research Program then the Newtypist regulars must be real idiots." Liana pointed out.

'Either that or he brownnosed his way up there…' Cillis interjected and hit the nail on the head, which resulted in a volley of agreeing laughter.

'Yeah and I'll tell you somthing else-" Michel Kane said just as he's interrupted by shouts and gunshots behind him. Too close behind when he heard a high pitched scream. As he turned around to see what the ruckus is about he could just catch a woman that fell into his arms.

The young girl, in the khaki and brown color scheme of the UNE uniform, gave him a dazed incomprehendable look. Looking up she recognized him as the enemy, should she to try and break free or beg for help, mercy? He asked her her name.

'K- Kirsten…' The young girl stammered.

Whatever happened in that following second is entirely the fault of Kane's officers and gentlemans conduct. Maybe because that she was unarmed and shot in the leg that he couldn't consider her an enemy escapee. Or it might be that 'deer in the headlights' expression she had, it reminded him of the time when they raided a UNE Newtype Research Facility. All the human testsubjects had that same helpless look. Anyhow, against the numerous shouts of guards that ran towards them and consequenses that were to come, he lifted the wounded girl up and carried her towards the last supply truck of the convoy to Old Vegas. Michel helped her into the open back end, much to the disbelief of his fellow paras, and signaled the driver that he should move out immediately. 'Good luck, Kirsten.'

_Major__… __What __the __hell?_ Liana Haig thought to herself. Flanagan on the other hand just signaled to keep their hands on their sidearms or rifles. The youngest of the bunch, Cillis, could see his promotion go down the toilet.

Michel turned away and wanted to walk back to his men when the girl pulled herself up on one of the wooden crates. In the middle of uttering thanks a bullet strafed through the air and the girl collapsed dead between the supplies.

'YIHAA! I got 'er, Captain!' The closest of the approaching guards yelled victorious.

Not a metre from the back end of the truck Kane looked only to see the woman's face suddenly turned pale as she fell while some of the blood sprayed across his shocked face.

'Major Kane! What the hell do you think you're doing?" A voice, further away, roared.

Upon hearing the commotion the truckdriver pulled over as the culprit rifleman finally caught up. Kane just stood there, his eyes fixed blankly on the one bloodied arm which hung out the back of the truck. The men from Fifth Para also reacted and swarmed from the courtyard over to the railyard.

'Bastard!' Kane growled through his clenched teeth as he took a swing at the Newtypist responsible for the shot. He fell to the ground and Kane pulled him back up against the side of a train wagon ready to punch him again 'She was unarmed- wounded… That kill was without ANY HONOR! Newtype piece o' sh-'

A second time the voice rumbled, interrupting Kane, and sounded much closer than before 'Corporal Andrys was following orders, his revolutionary duty, unlike some, Major!' The voice was none other than that of NT-Captain Pike, commander of the Newtype relief force. As he pulled out his sidearm his Newtype soldiers did the same for their weapons, standing in a semi-circle around Kane and his men. All paras saw the situation drop out the pan into the fire and quickly took cover while they pulled out their submachine-guns. Safeties set off, bullets chambered, fingers nervously ready just above the trigger and the first unlucky targets trained into the scopes.

'Hold your fire! Watch out for the Major!' Flanagan snapped as he took cover behind the corner of a cargo container.

'Duty?' Kane yelled as he let go of his victim and to turned to face Pike 'Corporal Andrys reminds me of something that I occasionally pick up on my shoe in the gutter! Very unpleasant on a hot day! And if you have the dubious honor of ordering such senseless slaughter, then I'd advise you to keep him downwind at all times! That is, of course, if you can tell the difference anymore' In a fit of rage, Kane outed his disgust for the way the Newtypists do business. He roared so violently that he unwillingly spit out every word, what didn't help to make Pike see his point. And so Michel pushed the arrogant Captain back with his finger.

_Calm __down, __Mitch__…_ Flanagan mumbled.

Summoning all the bravado he could, to look like a god not interested in the ravings of an ant, Cpt. Pike responded rather cool 'Major, you are a decorated hero of Cloud Nine, yet you are now responsible for the attempted escape of an enemy soldier and the mutinous conduct of your men! I'm forced to place all of you under arrest, under the grave charge of refusal to perform your revolutionary duties and collaboration with the enemy, along with a washlist of others. You won't see your home colony again for a long, long time.'

For a moment Kane considered his options. He hated the thought of surrender, yet he felt reluctant to have his boys killed over a thing only he committed. And he couldn't live with the useless deaths of the men on his conscious. So he tried for a third option and orderd his paras to drop their weapons 'As for my men, they seem to feel a certain loyalty towards me. I don't suppose you could content yourself with my head and overlook their part in this thing?'

Pike smirked back negatively at his plea.

'No…That's what I thought.' Kane turned back to his sergeant 'You see that, Floyd? It's infallible…'

Flanagan nodded with a faint fatalistic smile while Pike frowned puzzled.

'I can always tell a Newtype bastard when I see one!' Now it was Kane's time to grin for his words weren't properly spoken when his fist impacted on Cpt. Pike's left eye. He stumbled two metres back doing half a spin before he fell and passed out on a pile of gunny sacks. Pike's lights were out and the Fifth Para cheered for their commander, even if that just made their situation much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

July B.W. 0001, Seventh Space War

Five weeks prior to the final operation

Cloud 9, Bureau of Military Intelligence

Cloud Nine, the group of colonies furthest away from the Earth, escaped most of effects of the war unscathed. It consisted of more than a dozen colonies from which the rebellion had raged across the solar system for the seventh time. This war started as a violent response to the utter humiliation they had endured after the imposions set upon them by the Nijmegen Treaty that ended the Sixth Space War.

Rather than trying to align Cloud Nine back with the rest of the Earth Sphere, the UNE Council alienated the people more and more by forcing economic sanctions, military restrictions and reparation costs unto the spacenoid population. Hardships followed the imposions and only fueled the anti-Earth government feelings as the Cloud ripped itself apart in economic and social crises.

Out of the turmoil rose a new order under the leadership of Seidel Rasso which pulled the Cloud back together. He reformed the economic, social, political systems to all serve People and State; claiming that capitalism, individualism and democracy are the tell-tale signs of Earth decadency and elitism.

The new regime glorified both the State and People, that without Cloud Nine and the spacenoid population a better future could not occur. And Newtypes were the perfect example that Rasso was right. That Cloud Nine should be the dominant power in the Earth Sphere for the better good of mankind.

Seidel Rasso made Cloud Nine's Colony One his capital, both civilian as military. Not far from the House of Assembly, which was nothing more than a puppet government to give off the air of equity, lay the military district where the Bureau of Military Intelligence was located.

The building looked more like a palace built in the neoclassical architecture of times long past and dominated the surroundings. Large marble steps, dark granite pillars and large alabaster tablets, with various historical events of the Cloud carved into them, made up the exterior of the otherwise light grey building. Two obsidian statues in bays inlaid with patterned azurite and malachite adorned the facade just above the entrance. The meaning or persons honored forgotten long ago. The massive wooden door, carved with great detail and fitted with bronze ornaments, had bleached in color by age, sun as well the many hands that had touched it.

In one of the small offices, which looked larger due to a high ceiling, sat a man behind his dark and heavy oak desk. Only the desk light shone in the otherwise dark room and an ashtray on the edge of shadow and light revealed a still smoldering cigarette butt. While he unfastened the white collar of his marine blue uniform with gold embroiderments, Colonel Rob Duvell studied recently acquired information from agents stationed on Earth.

Rob Duvell, bald with a crooked nose and sharp chin, was a seasoned veteran of the Sixth Space War where he lost his right eye and finally settled on a desk job with Military Intelligence. The years haven't worn the edge off of him, he's still keen and resourceful as then. But his taciturnity is sometimes mistaken for disdain and has offended more than a few simpleminded superior officers who took it personally. His only visible vice is that he's a chain smoker, a habit picked up in the Serengeti during the last war.

Time for a short break, he thought as boredom finally gained the upper hand. Duvell reached for his aluminum cigarette case, pulled one out and lighted it as he sank away in his armchair. As he rubbed his left eye Duvell checked if the eyepatch was still comfortably over his right one. A nap looked pretty attractive right now.

Just as he started to nod off a person briskly opened the door, the sudden entrance made him jump out of his chair. Hoping it wasn't a superior, Duvell stood at attention and tried to make out the black figure in the doorway. The visitor flicked the lights on and Rob Duvell saluted directly, with his gut tucked in and his chin thrust out, as he recognized his commander.

Admiral Canris Quale, head of military intelligence, a few years older than Duvell with ginger hair and square cut beard, was the only Oldtype still in the General Staff. Which was only possible due to the fact that he did his job too damn good to be replaced, although he wasn't really popular with Seidel Rasso, Cloud-Marshall Plasence or the rest of the Staff.

He walked in and dropped himself onto the leather couch against the wall opposing Rob Duvell's desk. He was offered one of Duvell's cigarettes but briskly rejected it with the notion "No thanks, Duvell. I know what you smoke."

"It's an acquired taste, this African tobacco." And Duvell took the opportunity to light one for himself as he chuckled on the comment, forgetting his other cigarette still in the ashtray. "Some tea perhaps, Sir? You seem rather tense."

Quale nodded and Duvell spoke a few words through the comm-panel on his desk. And a few minutes later his adjudant, Lieutenant j.g. Biden Spenker, opened the door to let a servant in who carried a silver tray with the tea and a dish of nut cakes. He placed the tray on the granite top of the coffee table, gave a polite bow towards the two officers and then made his way to the door. After the servant and Spenker both left the office Duvell seated himself onto the armchair next to the couch and poured the Admiral and himself a cup of tea. After a sip or two, he asked "Your meeting went well? Did Seidel Rasso have something specific in mind?"

"A simple exercise in logistics, nothing very complicated; he merely wants the UNE Council brought from Earth to Cloud 9." The Admiral paused for a second to take a sip from his tea and to observe Duvell's reaction to the news. Duvell merely shrugged and Canris Quale continued, somewhat cooled off by refreshments "We are ordered to make a feasibility study. Today's Wednesday. By Friday he will have forgotten about it, but Cloud-Marshal Plasence won't."

"So we have our work cut out for us…"

Rob Duvell remarked, looking more interested at his smoldering cigarette, than the feasibility study.

"This study is a complete waste of time and resources. Fabricate something immediately so we're done with it!"


	3. Chapter 3

July B.W. 0001, Seventh Space War

Four weeks prior to the final operation

Cloud 2, Colony 5

The front has moved back to space. Terrestrial Revolutionary troops were unable to take a firm hold due to their incompetence in land warfare. Others blamed it on Seidel Rasso's chaotic nature, who changed tactics and moods in the blink of a eye. His newest plan is to lure the UNE out into space where his troops have the advantage and they can pick off the ascending ships which are vulnerable in mid-flight. The loyal forces left on the Earth are to be remembered as valiant heroes.

Every trooper of Fifth Para was sentenced to one year of penal service. Ranks were lost, the status of a soldier denied. Now they are but convicts. Led by disgruntled NT-Lieutenant Grahl, who seems to have gotten sentenced to this suicide commando himself, the ex-paras perform mainly the task of cannonfodder. Today they were ordered to do what no other unit with even the slightest shred of honor would ever dream of doing.

XVII Penal Battalion has been tasked with a search and destroy operation. The target: a UNE-friendly colony. Intel suggested that there were still remnants of the Nation's old space fleet holding a bonus HQ has delivered a new experimental weapon, the GA-Cannisterrifle, armed with three cannisters each containing the liquid gas _EA1205_. Fresh from the labs of Advanced R&D this supreme knockout gas should put the population asleep effectively in a mere five to ten minutes, depending how well the cannisters are shot. They also included the chemical formula, _C__5__H__11__N__2__O__2__P_, not that it really ment anything to Kane or his men. All that mattered was that, if it worked, they could capture military strongpoints and overtake the garrison inside the colony without having any shots fired. With some bad luck it'd be possible that some Nates are able to get their gasmasks out, a mild threat to the elite unit that was once Fifth. Still Michel Kane had mixed feelings about the new weapon. Something didn't feel right.

Cloud 2. Most of its colonies were no longer capable of sustaining life as a result from the Sixth Space War. The Colony Reconstruction Plan was put into effect as part of the cleanup operations. This called for most of the still habitable colonies to be remodeled in order to rebuild the damaged ones. One such colony was Colony 5.

Colony 5 was refitted with an central cilinder twenty metres in diameter with support beams every hundred metres on each of the three landmasses. This strengthened the colony so it was able to support the extra weight of a damaged colony next to it without getting torn apart. Currently Colony 9 was attached and awaited repairs.

"""_One-Seven-Papa-Bravo, the Nates have discovered us. Daughtress' moving to intercept. All mobile suits; engage the enemy!"""_

Liana Haigh bellowed when she led the charge of the penal MS-force, consisting of three outdated Jenice types, on the south side of the colony. A diversion attack to lure away the few escort mobiles that the Nates got stationed on this colony. As lightning both forces engaged each other, giving away the impression of fireflies in a fireworks display. The trap has been sprung.

From the other side, hidden from sight by Colony 9, a vessel slowly drifted towards the northern spacedocks of Colony 5. The small scout ship which was dubbed _Mosquito_, a _Kignus_-class vessel, carried the rest of XVII Penal. These are the ones who are going to capture the interior of the colony along with securing the Nate garrison. A lone Jenice carrying the GA-rifle flew past the Mosquito and opened the plasteel outer baydoor of spacedock 3.

The port authority forces were no match for the troopers rushing forward as ants out their hole. Instantly troopers took and held several corridors, controlrooms and elevators. Once cleared they placed and detonated plastic explosives to block all entries to spacedock 3. All but one, the inner baydoor. The prisoners from the port authority sat on their knees, with hands behind their head, facing the wall. Each and every one of them hoping to get through this ordeal alive. Further away a group of men looked at the schematics of the colony.

"And Lt., what's the plan from here?" Kane asked looking up from several blueprints. "Lieutenant?"

Grahl stood by himself shaking and sweating away. He's so busy trying to control his nerves he didn't hear Michel Kane yell at him.

"Goddammit, Lt. Grahl! Get a grip of yourself before I gotta do it for you." He barked before he turned back to the maps, which Flanagan and Cillis still held.

"Hell, is that guy shellshocked or doped up?"

"Relax, Floyd, we'll manage without him." Kane shrugged and looked over the map. "Like it or not gentlemen, this will be a search and destroy mission. We move in, take out all enemy forces –" Here Kane interrupted a second and glanced at the prisoners. Were they to be considered enemy forces or not? Have them shot or let go? "- and shift back to the Mosquito for a quick extraction. Sergeant, you take ten men into the central cilinder, smoke out any resistance and take and hold the Colonial Climate Controls." Kane switched to Cillis "Son, stay here with Grahl. If he does anything crazy, you've got my permission to shoot him."

Kane ascended to the cockpit of the Jenice via the retractable rope. Using the open hatch as a podium he issued orders to the troopers.

"Men, from this moment on you all wear your gasmasks. I need four volunteers to defend the perimeter alongside Cillis. Flanagan's squad will secure the cilinder and the rest will follow on me. Got that?" He paused for a moment and looked around the group of troopers "This is search and destroy, men, use extreme prejudice!"

The group of troopers swarmed out in three different directions after the go-word has been given. A trooper of Kane's group overrode the controlpanel of the inner baydoor and a hail of incoming fire erupted as soon as the doors opened. The port authority managed to alert the UNE troops after all. Light armoured reconnaissance vehicles outfitted with either a heavy machinegun or rocketlauncher along with seemingly every Nate soldier available had taken up position around the entrance.

"LARV's!" One trooper yelled upon viewing the fierce resistance ahead, another one yelled to deploy smoke. Kane motioned his Jenice forward and flew overhead the UNE troops and drew their fire away for a second from the inner baydoor. It gave his troopers enough time to throw their smoke grenades and envelop the enemy in a thick gray fog.

Blinded by the smoke the Nates stopped their fire. Infantry's ordered to move forward into the grey cloud and locate the enemy. Corporal Larsson is one of them. Difficulty to breathe and an irritating feeling in his eyes hindered his ability to act. Slowly Larsson started to perceive shapes in the insubstantial mass, humanoid features. Humans with rifles.

_Quite weird shape for a gun…_ He thought. Each step he took became slower, more quiet. The beings started to take on more form. Behind him a pair of boots copied his exact moves on the same rythm, invisible and unhearable to Larsson. _Wait! That's no gun, that's an RP-_

Before he could yell out to his comrades something covered his mouth forcefully, at the same time a sharp cold object touched his jugular from the other side. Then Larsson knew he was being pulled down by a man behind him and felt the bayonet cut deeper into his throat. Last thing he realised was a large amount of blood pouring down his gullet, a feeble taste of iron was left in his mouth.

"Nothing personal, buddy." The trooper whispered in his ear while he cleaned his bloodied knife on Larsson's vest. Then he moved swift and silently ahead towards his next kill.

Out the giant cloud smoky spikes flew out, each uncovering a nasty explosive tip on the head, on direct course to several LARVs. "RPG! RP-GAAAHK…" One such LARV-commander tried to warn for in vain before he was killed by a direct hit in the munitions storage of his vehicle.

J-14 fragmentation grenades were thrown like snowballs, as explosion after explosion tore through the UNE ranks causing massive panic and a breakdown in the chain of command. Remaining Nates were mercilessly cut down by the full automatic assaultrifles carried by the troopers.

As the smoke cleared the Jenice had already moved onward in an effort to lure out other UNE forces as well as to scare all civilians into the shelters. The troopers grouped back together and followed their leader towards the populated area, already preparing themselves for urban house-to-house combat.

Ten minutes into the mission and already nine men dead and a dozen wounded. Kane never got used to it that so many died with each confrontation. And since it was a penal battalion it meant no replacements; after a few operations like this his former unit would be decimated. Again his heart cringed. His train of thought was interrupted by the flashes of an explosion outside the colony windows. As he looked up he saw a Daughtress fly by pursued by a Jenice. A few moments later another explosion occurred and the Jenice changed its course towards a new target.

Kane turned on the radio in his cockpit and contacted Flanagan "How's it going on your side, Floyd?"

"""_Pretty good, almost no opposition. We've deployed the flamethrowers in the narrow corridors and we'r- Fry those slimeballs!-"""_

"Flanagan! Do you copy? Floyd, answer me, dammit!" Kane yelled upon hearing the fighting in the background.

"""_Sorry, Sir, but I think we just found their CCC. I'll report back once we've secured it. Flanagan out."""_

As they walked down the road in a secure formation the troopers encountered little to no resistance. XVII Penal moved between the tall buildings as a flock of locusts, one trooper after another jumped towards the next doorway or narrow alley in front of them to seek cover while they slowly advanced on the UNE Garrison. Once and again shadows moved past hastily shut windows and occasionally a pot-shot was aimed at the invaders. The worst they have to be afraid off are rocks and small furniture which is thrown by civilians.

"Are you insane, woman? Get to the shelters before you're killed!" A trooper yelled to one such stonethrower with two children. "And get your kids out of here."

Soon after several sharp whistles are heard and a trooper fell down riddled with bullets. Seeing his comrade fall down, radioman Sims roared out almost instinctively: "SNIPER!"

Upon yelling all hell broke loose. From seemingly every window gunbarrels appeared spewing out metal death. The ambushed soldiers jumped for cover behind parked cars, doorsteps and everything that could be used as a shield. XVII Penal is pinned down in a narrow bottle-necked street, taking fire from elevated positions and several gun emplacements placed in the display windows of the local shops. Under a hail of returning fire Sergeant Sheen barked orders to every capable trooper. "Roodsy, fall back two buildings! HEDGEHOG FORMATION! Medic, take care of the wounded-" He lifted his head from the butt of his rifle, to face the medic, only to find a civilian crawling behind some rubble. A mother and, what appeared to be, her baby. "DAMN! Get those civvies outta here!"

Trooper Fonsa, with sharp mongolian features and a nasty cut above his left eye, sprung as fast as lightning from his cover. Slinging his rifle over his back while he doubletimed it to the people in need. Dodging passing bullets, shrapnel and falling dirt he reached the ones in need. But when Fonsa crossed eyes with the woman and saw her baby, he tried to turn back and run for cover. As he did he slipped over rubble on the ground and struggled to crawl back up. Sheen saw the terror in Fonsa's eyes when the woman raised the baby above her head and screamed on the top of her lungs "FOR THE EARTH!"

A blazing explosion lighted up briefly before smoke filled up the spot where Fonsa and the suicide bomber stood. Chunks of dirt and rock showered down in the street.

When Sergeant Sheen came back to his senses he found himself against a wall under debris and pieces of poor Fonsa. He felt the blood on his hands when he realised he's unable to get up. A gaping wound, where his spleen used to be, prevented him from doing so. In front of him the slaughter continued. _Must __warn __the__… __warn__… __Major__…_

With waining strength Sheen was able to crawl to the body of radioman Sims, who didn't survive the explosion, nearby. He reached for the radio and managed to swing the receiver on his shoulder. As he lowered his head down on the same shoulder as the receiver Sheen tried to contact Kane.

"One-Seven-Papa-Bravo. Major… Come in- This… is an emergency!"

"""_Sims, is that you? What the hell."""_

"It's Sergeant Sheen, Sir. Sims is dead. Ambushed… Many casualties- They're all around us! Need assistance…"

"""_I've got my hands full! Can you hold out?"""_

"Broken Arrow, Sir… Broken Arrow!" Sheen managed to blurt out before he finally succumbed to his injuries.

On the other side of the colony near the UNE Garrison HQ Michel Kane sat baffled in his Jenice mobile suit. _Broken __Arrow_; he thought; _That __means __they__'__re __almost __overrun __and__…_ Kane scowled and cursed in his cockpit as he turned his MS around to face the centre of the colony. He ignored the soldiers on the ground whose bullets ricocheted of the MS' armor. "Damn it! I was hoping not to use this."

Slowly he pulled up his targeting handle which brought the GA-rifle to bear on three preset targets inside the colony. Kane hesitated for a brief second before he ignored the bad vibe and squeezed the trigger. It was one of the few times where he took the shot with his eyes closed. Since the start of the mission he couldn't shake this weird feeling about the new weapon.

As if guided by unseen hands the three gas cannisters followed their trajectory. One went almost entirely to the north side, the second one to the south side and the last one went for the dead centre of the colony. Choreographed by the internal timers the GA-cannisters exploded as if three geisers just erupted. In a matter of seconds the brownish water evaporated into caramel-coloured clouds of gas which drifted towards the three landmasses, slowly consuming everything until a thick layer of brown mist covered the ground. The fighting died off in the following ten minutes.

Michel let out a sigh of relief as he sank down in his chair. It looked like it worked after all, but their job wasn't over. The surviving troopers rose from their positions to check out their own dead and wounded. Some moved forward to unarm the unconscious UNE soldiers.

Medic Rast scowled as he's busy with applying a field dressing on a nasty gunwound on a trooper's shoulder. It's rather difficult to do this simple procedure in this brown fog with a dampened gasmask visor.

"Damn it, Doc! That freaking hurts." The trooper yelled through his clenched teeth. "It burns!"

"Don't be such a baby, Colleck. And keep still."

"It doesn't feel like a normal gunshot, Rast. I'm feeling sick, can't breathe and I'm shivering like crazy. On top of that I got cold sweat. Is that -AARGH- that normal?"

"That's weird, probably just shock." Rast muttered, more to himself than to Colleck, while he searched his backpack for morfine and pulled out a vial. He turned back to Colleck only to find him unconscious and automatically laid two fingers on the neck to search for vital signs. "Hey, wake up. This is no time for-" The vitals are gone.

In the meanwhile Michel Kane had moved his Jenice so that it kneeled on its right leg and used the left arm as a lift to the ground. He walked across the open road, pistol in hand and gasmask over his head, towards the UNE Garrison building. It's eerily quiet. The six guards that were stationed outside the gates had collapsed like sacks of potatoes, no sign of struggle to stay awake, not one that tried to grab his gasmask. They fell asleep peacefully, their mouthes cramped in a faint smile. The GA did its job in earnest. Then the walkie talkie on his belt started making noise.

"This is Kane, what's up?"

"""_Sir! __We__'__ve __got __a __situation. __They__'__re __all __dead.__"""_ The voice sounds panicky. It's Rast.

"What? Explain yourself, Rast. Where are you?" Kane growled while he kept walking towards the gate of the Garrison. Something gnawed at the back of his head, that bad feeling about the GA. He needed to inspect the soldiers. If it really was the gas, then he is responsible for this. This is way beyond war crimes. It's genocide.

"""_Corrick bought it, Sir. They all did! The Nates… Even our wounded. We- they made us use nerve gas!"""_

_Nerve gas…_

After having searched for a pulse on all six of the bodies, Kane had to agree. His head started spinning, making it hard to think sober. Words hastily came out as he ran back to his cockpit.

"All dead- How…This can't be real-"

"""_High Command set us up!"""_

Maybe it's not too late, maybe the air can get filtered. Flanagan must have captured the CCC by now. He could pull it off! Michel looked up in the sky and focused on the part of the central cilinder where the CCC would be located.

"Floyd, come in! Listen to me. It's imperative that you filter the air ASAP. Override the security measures, and start pumping in the oxygen from the emergency tanks."

On that same moment the middle part of the central cilinder exploded, lighting the sky bright orange with fire. Because of the zero-gravity in the centre the debris fell down, upwards and sideways; all around. Fire consumed the remaining pieces of the central cilinder but without gravity it looked as if the fire was alive, hopelessly trying to get a hold of something.

"Don't do this to me… Floyd!" Michel Kane screamed out as he fell to his knees "Not here, not like this…"

And now it sank in what he did. What the SRA did. All those lives rendered expendable because they weren't considered Newtypes. Even he and his men are just tools of Seidel Rasso, ready to be thrown away at the snap of his fingers. Kane unknowingly committed mass murder for that madman. He dragged his men into this; this sheer madness. If only he hadn't tried to save that girl, all of this wouldn't have happened. Flanagan would still be alive. He and his men could have died for a cause worth it, instead they met their end while accomplishing one of the biggest war crimes in this conflict. The guilt is just too much.

_What have I done…_

He looked to the pistol still in his hand and for a second the embrace of death seemed the best way out of this hell. Just a short pain. Kane knew he could never make up for what happened. He cursed himself while tears welled up in his eyes. Even through the rubber layer of the gasmask the cold steel barrel made his temple twitch. The pistol cocked, eyes closed and a final apology was said. The second it took to pull the trigger seemed to last forever.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The gun failed, that's SRA weaponry for you. Disappointed Michel Kane looked at the gun and noticed that the bullet got jammed, half in the chamber and the other half in the magazine. A sign?

Half an hour, forty minutes later. The surviving troopers returned to the Mosquito, dragging along their dead and wounded on improvised stretchers or the shoulder of a comrade. Among them Michel Kane stumbled guiltstrikken and defeated, feeling hopelessly lost in the sea of people and corpses. At the ship NT-Lt. Grahl was nervously pacing up and down the hangar and came to a sudden stop when he saw Kane approaching. A disdain grin of success against the Nates grew on his face, whatever was over him in the beginning of the mission had completely dissappeared. A few metres behind the main group a lone scout came running to catch up. He stopped near Kane and had to bend over, with his hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

"Sir. No survivors in any of the shelters. The gas creeped in somehow. I'm sorr-"

"I really didn't think you had it in you. Kane." Lt. Grahl yelled across the hangar, interrupting the scout. "Another colony cleansed of UNE vermin. Good job! You might be a Newtype after all."

Something snapped inside his mind when he heared the word 'Newtype'. Mass murder as a justification of Rasso's laughable ideology? The same man that sentenced him and his men to this place to die no doubt. Don't these people care one bit about the lives of innocent people? Kane cried out his disgust, rushed forward slamming Grahl against the hull of the Mosquito. He burrowed his elbow deep into Grahl's throat. "What was that? Good job? You bastard!"

Michel Kane loosened his grip only to punch him hard in the stomach. Crawling on hands and knees Grahl tried to order for help. But all in vain, the soldiers listen only to their own commander and watched indifferently to the beating. And Grahl realised that too when Kane's boot swooped up three times plowing into different parts of his body.

"You knew all along! Didn't you Newtypes have the guts to do it yourself? You don't even want to see what you're responsible for."

The group of troopers, gathered around the two, split into two sides to let Kane pass, who dragged Grahl along by his hair. They stopped at the inner baydoor which was still open from the beginning of the mission, the colony interior still covered in the caramel-coloured mist. Grahl refused to look, so Michel Kane forced him to with a chokehold. With his one free hand he screwed off the filter of Grahl's gasmask, who in turn started to whimper not to.

"Look. Look at it, damn you! Is this what Rasso's Spacenoid Independence is all about in the end? We kill our own. And we were dumb enough to believe and fight for that garbage. Here, take a closer look!"

"No, Kane! Please-GAAKH!"

Grabbing Grahl, who was coughing and begging frantically for his life, by his collar and belt, Kane hurled him into the colony interior. He fell on the slope and rolled down at amazing speed. Kicking and screaming, trying to grab hold of something, Grahl dissappeared in the brown fog. Michel Kane yelled at him on top of his lungs. "Twenty million colonists dead. Fifty of my boys are gone. All because of me, of what I did, yet the dead intervened when I tried to kill myself. But I bet they'll be more than happy with your miserable life!"

As Grahl rolled down the steep hill across rocks, dirt and branches, Kane aimed his pistol. This time the earlier jammed bullet flew out alongside with eight of its brothers and helped to put an end to the screaming as well the life of NT-Lt. Grahl.

"For the _glorious_ cause of the Revolution!" He couldn't have yelled it more sarcastic, more resentful. Finally Michel could relax, Grahl's execution could never make up for what happened here today but it was a step in the right direction. He turned his attention to an already freaked out Cillis and motioned him closer by.

"Cillis, my boy. Take some men and go to what's left of the CCC. Gather the dead, we leave no man behind."

Behind them, in one of the small corridors a voice laughed. It sounded wounded but still victorious. "My radio gets hit in the crossfire and everyone assumes I'm dead. Have some faith in my skills, Mitch."

_Mitch._ Only one man called him that way. _It __can __only __be__…_ Kane turned around and stared his adjudant in the eyes as he and his team stumbled through the doorway. "Floyd, you're alive! You're hurt bad?"

"Bah. Cuts and bruises, a cracked rib or two..." Flanagan showed his left hand, a bloodied handkerchief wrapped around it, and laughed. "… and two fingers lying around here somewhere. Relax, it's nothing a year's worth of R&R can't fix."


	4. Chapter 4

July B.W. 0001, Seventh Space War

Three weeks prior to the final operation

Cloud 9, Bureau of Military Intelligence

Making his way through the long hallways of the building Lieutenant j.g. Spenker entered one of the offices with an armful of classified reports. One of the lesser tasks associated with being an adjutant to Colonel Duvell. Much to his surprise he found the office empty. The desk light was turned on, as well as some view screens on the wall. A still smouldering cigarette butt in the ashtray confirmed that somebody was definitely around. Perhaps in one of the adjacent rooms. Spenker opened the wooden door of the chart room and found his superior examining a collection of aerial photographs.

"Colonel?" Spenker half said half asked, after he cleared his throat.

Duvell raised his head and motioned Spenker closer while he pulled out a new cigarette. "Finally. I hope they didn't make too big a fuss of it?"

"None at all, Sir. They were all gone." Spenker smirked "Lunch break and all that."

The cigarette almost fell out of his mouth when Duvell heard it. He scowled and cursed the whole bureaucratic incompetence of the Bureau. "Unbelievable, Spenker. Our biggest military secrets unguarded because of lunch." Duvell shook his fist angrily into the air as to put force by his words "I'm surprised that the Nates haven't yet marched directly into Cloud 9 with these stupidities." He then focused back on the files and sighed fatalistically "Let's just look at the reports. Incompetence aside, we still got a war to win."

"Complete for the last week." Spenker handed over the files and asked "Perhaps the Colonel could give me a rough idea of our problem?"

Duvell couldn't help but snicker "Actually I can be quite specific, Spenker. Seidel Rasso wants the UNE Council brought from Earth to Cloud 9 in chains."

"My God…"

"God?" Duvell asked amused to his visibly shaken adjudant and answered in his place "He backed out of this war a long time ago, Spenker."

For a moment the two men stood there, each occupied by his own thoughts about the situation. Then, out of the blue, Spenker remembered one of the reports while he skimmed through them in the hallways. He sifted through the scattered reports on Duvell's desk.

"There was something that might fit our needs. Came in yesterday I think. Maybe… Ah here it is. From agent _Raven_, stationed in Toledo."

Duvell examined the file briefly.

"Interesting… Where exactly is this Toledo?"

"It's almost dead centre of the Iberian Peninsula, former country of Spain."

_Even more interesting…_ Rob Duvell thought to himself. Spain got hit pretty badly in the beginning of the war as part of a diversionary attack. While most of Southern Europe was bombed flat the SRA invaded the then lesser defended North American continent.

"Get me a map of the general area."

Spenker entered a few parameters into a nearby control panel and within seconds a view screen lit up and showed Toledo and its surroundings from an aerial perspective. A live feed from one of few spy satellites left in Earth orbit.

"Larger scale, Spenker."

The map magnified and revealed more detail. Mostly ruins, flat desertlike terrain and not any mentionable military presence in less than a half day's travel. The only thing left standing is a newly-built circular bunker complex in the demolished city centre. As good as isolated.

Isolated…

"Maybe God hasn't backed out of this war just yet. Look at this, Spenker. It's just thrown into our laps." Colonel Duvell grinned excited, a glint in his left eye. "How reliable is this agent's Intel?"

"It's transmitted through dead comm-frequencies. Raven's messages are hidden in what would otherwise be random static. I don't know the specifics about this system, it goes far beyond me. But the Nates surely haven't discovered it yet."

From behind Duvell's black eye patch a plan started to form. Simple, ingenious and most of all bold. They have everything available for a successful raid on Toledo except for one thing; a man crazy enough to lead it.

The next day Colonel Duvell and Lieutenant j.g. Spenker studied a pile of personnel files who were deemed qualified for the job. Every available officer was screened by rigorous standards set by Duvell himself. Out of a thousand officers a dozen were chosen. One file fully absorbed Rob Duvell's attention. So much even he forgot all about the cigarette in his hand. As he continued with the profile he inadvertently started reading it aloud with growing awe.

"Special Forces raid on Satellicon during the Sixth Space War… Crash-landed in North America with the first invasion drops, Seventh Space War. Wounded in the battle of Phoenix, Arizona. Received the golden Victorus Star. Led a voluntary charge of 197 men on Blythe, California, to relieve a cut off brigade. Received the Knights Cross of Valour with Oak Leaves… Dropped with his 162 remaining men on New Vegas, Nevada…"

Duvell's voice changed when he read the next paragraph but he wasn't less determined about this officer.

"Sentenced with his 115 men to the XVII Penal Battalion after a wash list of charges. Michael Kane. Former Major of 5th Para, Air Wing Special Forces SRA."

"And language, Sir?"

"Can speak English without a spacenoid accent."

The room grew silent for a moment as Rob Duvell contemplated the situation. This feasibility study started out as a waste of time and yet it has become a radical opportunity to turn this war around. It felt to Duvell as were he guided by an unseen force, laying out the cards before him. It reminded him of a philosophy class from his long past school days.

"Are you familiar with the works of Jung?"

Spenker, who was caught up in his own heap of papers, shook his head.

"I've heard the mention of his name."

Duvell cleared his throat "A great thinker, Spenker. A rational man. Yet he speaks of something called synchronicity. A series of seemingly random events that are connected by an underlying dynamic."

"I fail to see the connection, Colonel." Spenker admitted his ignorance.

Duvell made a faint smile as he walked towards a view screen, displaying Toledo from the air, and continued.

"Take this affair. His Excellency comes up with the absurd suggestion which calls for the abduction of the UNE Council. For political reasons we are forced to create a useless report of the prospects. And then, suddenly, synchronicity rears its disturbing head."

"So far I'm still following, Sir."

"We receive a routine report with a brief notation that in two weeks from now several, if not all, high ranking council-members will assemble in Toledo. An abandoned city cut off from civilisation in an arid wasteland." He pointed to the viewscreen and then made a hand gesture to simulate a step-by-step motion. "At any other time this report would be of no importance, especially since we are struggling for control of Earth orbit. Or we would simply carry out an orbital bombardment on Toledo. But at this particular time, this particular file and this particular soldier… To me it seems that synchronicity is rolling out the red carpet for us, now all I need are the means, resources and authority necessary for the job."

Spenker grinned unbelievingly "But you honestly don't think we can pull it off?"

"A wink from a pretty girl seldom leads to a climax, Spenker." Duvell grinned "But a man is a fool not to push a suggestion as far as it can go."

Both men laughed with the obvious insinuations of the joke. As Duvell took his place again behind the desk he looked at Spenker and said "Get me the whereabouts of this Michael Kane. He's been away from Cloud 9 for far too long."

In the following days an intricate plan was formed around the back and forth coded communications with the Spanish field operative, agent _Raven_. It seems Raven has managed to infiltrate into the UNE ranks, posing as a NCO, and obtain access to the Toledo bunker complex. And now the feasibility study is completed and seems to have become a full-fledged covert operation. Colonel Rob Duvell is highly satisfied of his work of the past days. Even when Lieutenant Spenker was unable to confirm the current location of the XVII Penal Battalion due to the great level of secrecy of the court-martial.

"Raven's reports are excellent. He is to be commended, Spenker. Full layouts of the ground and upper levels of the facility. To bad about the lower areas but our targets should remain on the ground level the entire time."

He closed the thick file and turned to his adjudant.

"Here, Spenker. See to it that it goes through the right channels. And whatever you do don't give it to those guys from last time. Might just as well give it to a double agent while we're at it."

"You know, Colonel…" Spenker joked "I might be a double agent as well."

"Come now." Duvell pulled out a cigarette and let himself slide into his armchair. "Give the Nates at least a little bit of credit. Eh, Spenker?"

As the evening set in, around seven, a knock was heard on Duvell's office door. Not waiting for a response the door opened and Spenker strode in to introduce a guest for his commander. A tall and skinny man with sharp chiselled cheekbones and an even sharper hawk's nose. His eyes peering through black circular sunglasses. He sported the normal blue SRA uniform with a grey oilskin overcoat draped over one shoulder.

_A Sepo no doubt._ Duvell thought to himself.

Still stepping forward the man flashed his badge and spoke the way you'd almost expect from a lackey, borderline stereotype.

"Agent Todt, Secret Police. Cloud-Marshal Plasence requests your presence at his office immediately."

_And I was right…_

July B.W. 0001, Seventh Space War

Two weeks prior to the final operation

Cloud 9, Cloud-Marshal's residence

Somewhere else in Cloud 9, about a fifteen minute drive from the Bureau of Military Intelligence, laid the Cloud-Marshal's residence. His villa nearly rivalled the grandeur and bombastic neo-rococo style of architecture and decorations of Seidel Rasso's palace. A stifling feeling crept up as Duvell walked into the office and halted at two paces distance of the massive desk. "Colonel Duvell, at your command!"

The Cloud-Marshal, although aware of Duvell, kept bowed over the files on his desk. With an almost unnoticeable glance he could see his guest nervously await some sort of reaction, as a knight waiting outside the dragon's lair would. Without lifting up his head he finally gave a form of mandatory hospitality.

"You seem nervous, Colonel. Please, sit down."

Duvell, who understood that as 'make yourself at home' as well as some sort of friendly gesture, instinctively pulled out his aluminium cigarette case.

"May I smoke, Sir?"

"No."

Disappointed he looked around the room as he put the cigarette case back in his chest pocket. The office was decorated with several types of wood carved with the most intricate of detail. In space wood was a rare commodity, for it could only be obtained on Earth, and here it was lavishly used as very expensive wallpaper. Duvell was sickened by this vulgar display of wealth. Dead centre of the wall on his right hung a somewhat tasteful nude painting, no doubt annexed during the invasion drops, positioned just opposite of an official portrait of Seidel Rasso. Quite amusing. So the old goat still likes a fresh green leaf.

Finally Cloud-Marshall Plasence raised his head from the documents and peered through his big spectacles, looking like a mole coming out of its hill, at Duvell. With a faint chuckle he complimented the set-up of the report. "A masterpiece."

"Thank you, Sir."

"You know, there would be people that'd say that this plan is unable to succeed. But we would be fools not to push a suggestion as far as it can go."

Plasence leaned a bit over his desk towards Duvell, squeezing his eyes, trying to find any trace of distress. "Does that phrase sound familiar, Colonel?"

"I don't immediately recall, Sir." Without giving a twitch on the outside Rob Duvell felt immensely uncomfortable on the inside. Somewhere or somehow Plasence has heard him say that sentence. But only he himself and his adjutant were at his office at the time. His office bugged? Or was it Spenker- or worse… In the Seventh Space War you can't even trust your own side.

"I know all about your plan. I know what is written on every single page. Even the one you haven't yet received." Again Plasence had to chuckle as he pulled out another file from his desk and slid it in front of Duvell. "The court-martial of Major Kane and his men, for example. The arrogance of this Kane is dazzling."

Rob Duvell picked it up and began to leaf through the pages while Plasence continued to talk about Michel Kane.

"An unusual man, this Kane. Intelligent, ruthless, a superb soldier. But above all a romantic fool. He threw away everything; rank, career, future… He's presently serving in a Penal Battalion in Cloud 2. And all for the sake of some Nate girl he never laid eyes on before. Besides his recent slip-ups, he does seem to be the ideal man for the job."

"If the Cloud-Marshal thinks so-"

Plasence interrupted his guest by holding up his hand, gesturing for silence. "And so do you, Colonel. But Admiral Quale has never truly believed in this mission from the start, has he now? It wouldn't be first time he had doubts about one of His Excellency's suggestions."

Duvell sensed where the Cloud-Marshall was going with this and he instinctively tried to distance himself from the ulterior motives of his superior officer. "My loyalty to the Admiral-"

"-Is exceeded only by your loyalty to Seidel Rasso. Isn't that so?" The Cloud-Marshal finished Duvell's sentence for him and peered again at Duvell for any sign of discomfort before he grinned pleased. "I'm sure of it. His Excellency wants this mission to be carried out."

For the first time during this meeting Duvell let his emotions loose for a split second. He swallowed and had to blink a few times with his eye before he regained his cool.

Once more Plasence reached into his desk and gave a closed letter to his guest. When Duvell tried to read it he was interrupted by Plasence who told him to read it aloud. With each spoken word his left eye opened more and more in genuine surprise. Rob Duvell had to clear his throat when he realised all this was for real.

"Colonel Duvell is acting on my direct and personal orders in matters of the utmost importance to Cloud 9. All personnel, military and civilian without distinction of rank, are to assist him in any manner Colonel Duvell sees fit to demand. Signed, Seidel Rasso."

"So you see, Colonel, under the terms of that document even I find myself under your personal command." Plasence chuckled at the mere idea and continued. "Good luck. I can only envy your inevitable success."

Knowing that the Cloud-Marshal was obviously not telling him to whole story, Duvell stood up and saluted before he turned around on his right heel and made his way towards the door. Synchronicity had delivered him the last piece of the jigsaw. There's work to be done. Much work.

Duvell now knew that until this operation is finished he has to plan all his moves with the utmost care, because if anything should go wrong there's no doubt he and he alone will be responsible. That's what Plasence was holding back. He felt a lump in his throat. The situation had grown from a ridiculous suggestion into a game of Russian Roulette outside of his control. It was a suicide mission with marginal chances of success, he knew it well. Duvell ate his dinner that evening with very little appetite. Synchronicity be damned.

Sepo: derogatory term used to identify a member of the Secret Police of Cloud 9


End file.
